


Neighbours and dogs

by deltaSpositive



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-25 17:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4970566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltaSpositive/pseuds/deltaSpositive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade discovered that his new neighbour was a dog lover. He seemed friendly enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lestrade sighed in resignation and laid down his evening paper on his shabby old sofa as the leg of the wooden table received a vicious bite from one large brown and sloppy dog.

"Alright mate. You could actually bite things that are not newly bought you know? Come with me," the salt and pepper haired detective clicked his tongue twice and signaled with his finger the drooling creature on the carpet to come foward. Immediately it sat up straight and bounded next to his legs.

Lestrade put on his coat and attached the collar to his dog. Already it was wagging its tail furiously and tried to lick Lestrade's hand as he patted on its nose. Grinning, he picked up the leash and opened the door to his flat.

He wasn't actually allowed to keep a dog in this three-storey building, but the landlord was gracious enough to turn a blind eye as long as Lestrade too turned a blind eye to his not very legal habits. He was jogging down the second flight of stairs when a man in a Belstaff coat with its collars upturned nearly bumped into Marx as he ran up the opposite way.

"Sorry," Lestrade apologized and shooed Marx to the side of the staircase. He didn't recognize the man - not anyone of his current neighbours, that was for sure - but he guessed he might be the one who had just rented the flat next doors. Hopefully this man didn't hate dogs, as did Mrs. Johnson upstairs.

His worries dissipated when instead of glaring him back with the spiteful eyes Mrs. Johnson always used on him the man crouched down and patted Marx. Dog-lover then, Lestrade thought. He was about to speak when the man, still patting Marx - that sloppy dog was already licking his hands - looked up from his crouched position and fixed Lestrade with his long cold gaze.

"Two or three?" He asked in a deep baritone.

"If you are asking how many donuts I ate today, then two. Three if you are asking his age," Lestrade shrugged casually.

The man in Belstaff rolled his eyes. "Your sense of humour is appalling, Detective Inspector," he said before resuming his affectionate petting on his dog. Despite his seemingly condescending tone, Lestrade could see a smile tugging at the man's lips.

"How did you know that?" Lestrade asked, and knelt down with the man as he also petted Marx.

"Obvious to anybody who knows how to observe. How do you think I observe that then, Scotland Yard?" He asked, sounding haughty and presumptuous and looking at Lestrade with pure mockery.

Lestrade thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose you can see my gun underneath my coat. That leaves you quite a narrow range of options. But since I am still carrying a gun when I am not on duty, it seems reasonable to assume I am with the police. Normal citizens would hide their guns better. Then as for my position, I don't really think people as old as me will have a position lower than a DI. I guess I look too stupid to be anywhere higher than that then."

"You don't look stupid, but by the state of your flat and your appearance, your income fits that of a DI," the man said bluntly and stood up suddenly, "Nice to meet you, Detective Inspector."

"Greg Lestrade," Lestrade said and held out his hand, which was shook in a cursory manner, "You?"

"Sherlock Holmes," the man said, "I am moving in tomorrow."

"Right. Nice to meet you Sherlock. Gotta run now, poor bastard has waited here for long enough," Lestrade smiled.

Sherlock nodded befote turning around and racing up the stairs again. But before he had arrived at the second floor, he suddenly shouted downwards, "Your dog's going to have diabetes soon if you keep letting him eat donuts!"

Greg laughed to himself as he left the building for a walk.


	2. Chapter 2

Since Sherlock's arrival, Lestrade had met him on a few occassions. First one was the day he moved in, when Lestrade heard a rather loud bang from behind the thin walls connecting the two flats and decided to check on him only to find the man shooting bullets into the wall. Second one was two days after that, when Marx clawed and howled at the door and Lestrade allowed him out to see what's causing the commotion. Turned out the chemist next door was working on some pheromones that apparently upsetted his Irish Setter. In an attempt to pacify Marx, Sherlock had a good time petting him on the sofa with Lestrade sitting next to him.

Their third encounter happened a week later with Lestrade opening the door to his flat only to find Sherlock Holmes curled up on his sofa with Marx.

"Sherlock! What the bloody hell are you doing here? Did you just break in my flat?" Lestrade yelled at the languid figure on the sofa, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Marx was barking," came the nonchalant response. Sherlock then looked at him with a face of faint interest.

"So you just decided it was a good idea  to break into your neighbour's flat?" Lestrade asked, his chest still heaving from the anger.

"I couldn't work," Sherlock answered, annoyed. Seeing that the older man still hadn't been satisfied with his answer, he added, "You should also know your lock is very easy to pick. Buy a new one."

Breathe, Lestrade told himself, count to ten. And he when he had finally counted to ten, he strode across the room and stood next to where Sherlock was sitting on his sofa.

"Look, you really can't break into others' flat just because you can't work and the lock is crap. It is illegal and this is a matter of privacy," Lestrade told him.

"Fine," Sherlock said.

Lestrade's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the lack of biting remarks. He stood there for a little longer, out of stubborness, before letting it go and sat down on the sofa. Marx then laid his head on Lestrade's lap and started drooling. He sighed.

"Disgusting boy," Lestrade scolded affectionately and tried to push his head away. Marx merely looked up to him with his innocent dark eyes and refused to move.

"Move, will ya," Lestrade gave the clingy animal another push, but he still wouldn't budge.

"Come here, Marx," Sherlock suddenly said softly, and immediately the dog lifted up his head and turned to look at him. Sherlock then clapped his lap twice and upon hearing the signal the dog climbed up on Sherlock's lap and began licking his face.

"Good boy," Sherlock smiled, and nuzzled his nose.

Lestrade watched all this with faint amusement. He's known this new neighbour for a week now, and though he still had no idea what exactly his day job was, he knew that Sherlock rarely smiled. And the only time when he really showed pure happiness was when he was cuddling with Lestrade's dog.

Suddenly a connection formed in Lestrade's head and he blurted out before his idea was fully formed, "You just wanted to see Marx, right? Not because he was bloody damn barking or the lock was crap."

For the first time, Lestrade saw Sherlock being surprised. It confirmed what he said.

"You know, you could have just knocked on my door and asked if you could come over and play with Marx. I am cool with that."

Sherlock looked at him as though he didn't understand. "Why would you let me come over?" He asked, frowning.

"Because you like my dog and apparently he likes you too," Lestrade explained.

Sherlock thought for a moment while stroking Marx's soft brown fur absent-mindedly.

"People are never this kind to me," he said finally.

"How?"

"They..." Sherlock stopped his movements and turned to look at Lestrade. Marx raised his head and licked on Sherlock's hand. "They aren't like you. They don't accept me, while you even invited me to come over."

"I won't blame them for not wanting a total nutter who broke in their apartments to stay over, to be honest," Lestrade said, amused.

"So why do you then?" Sherlock asked.

"I dunno... You don't seem to be a bad lad to me. Just someone more..." Lestrade thought for a moment before saying, "eccentric."

Sherlock didn't say anything and continued to stroke Marx. The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence and eventually Sherlock went back to his own flat at midnight.


	3. Chapter 3

After that day, Sherlock started to come over to Lestrade's every other night. At first, it all seemed very awkward, with Sherlock just sitting on the sofa petting Marx and doing nothing except for the occasional remarks on the cases Lestrade was working on. Lestrade would face the quandary of whether to sit on the sofa and talk or continue to do whatever he was doing while feeling the gaze of Sherlock on his back. The man, Lestrade found, was completely incapable of small talk, as he knew nothing of football or politics and had no desire to talk about his family or life outside of his work. Their only common topic was crime, and though Lestrade wouldn't mind one or two narratives of the interesting cases Sherlock had worked on, it was all too mind-wrecking.

'Wait, why wouldn't the killer just dump him at the alley?' 'Oh for God's sake, are you just making this up?' And Sherlock would be aggravated and gesticulate wildly, 'Don't you see? The killer was a director, an artist who paints blood. He wanted to be seen, he wanted to be recognized for his brilliant artwork of flesh and horror. Why would he hide away the body in a narrow quiet alley? There was no audience!' So Lestrade decided to give up murder cases as leisurely bed-time stories.

However, once Lestrade discovered the miraculous effect of TV soaps on Sherlock, the evenings became much more enjoyable and relaxing. Sometimes he would continue with his work and let Sherlock watch on his own, or sometimes they would sit together with Marx on their laps and Lestrade would explain with laughter why the people would watch football. 

Something changed when Lestrade came back from his daily walk one particularly rainy day.

"Hey, Sherlock," Lestrade greeted as the man opened the door for him from inside Lestrade's flat. (Lestrade had given him a spare key so he could help him feed or walk Marx when he was caught up in his work.) Sherlock frowned at the very soaked Lestrade and the still-dripping dog.

"Why didn't you get an umbrella?" Sherlock asked as he took over the leash and draped a warm towel over the shivering dog.

"Not your brother," Lestrade replied lightly and shrugged off his wet coat.

Sherlock gave him the look and then proceded to dry up Marx, who was now sneezing. But when he looked up, he found himself staring involuntarily at Lestrade's naked torso, his eyes roaming up and down the tanned and flexed muscles on his back.

"Sherlock, do you mind passing me the shirt on the sofa..." Lestrade said as he turned around, but the words drifted away as his gaze met Sherlock's. The lust in his eyes was unmistakable, and Lestrade swallowed, suddenly very aware of his nakedness.

"Uh... I will get it," Lestrade stuttered, and walked to the sofa and quickly put on his shirt. He could nearly feel the intense gaze on his back as he put his shirt back on.

"I... um... I have to leave," Sherlock said uncomfortably, and he stood up and walked to the door.

"Wait!" Lestrade called out and grabbed Sherlock by his arm. The younger man turned his head and looked at Lestrade, face red with embarrassment. But then Lestrade saw a flash of epiphany on his face, as though he understood something.

"I didn't see that," Sherlock muttered.

"Well, neither did I," Lestrade observed.

They stared at each other for what felt like hours before Lesteade finally spoke up. "Stay?" He asked softly, gently touching Sherlock's arm. Sherlock flinched, but he didn't draw away either, and he nodded and sat on the sofa.

They didn't talk about it that night. Their knees touched, and Lestrade found himself touching Sherlock's thigh a little too often. But mainly they just watched soaps and talked about the stupid plot, well, more like Sherlock talked about it and Lestrade nodded. Marx was as content as before, lying comfortably on the four thighs.

Before Sherlock left, Lestrade plucked up his courage and asked, "Hey, would you like to walk Marx with me tomorrow night?"

Sherlock stopped at the door and stilled. There was a moment of silence. "I..."

Shit, Lestrade thought, I shouldn't have asked that. "It's alright if you don't want to, you know, just asking..." Lestrade quickly said, hoping he hadn't caused too much damage. What was he thinking? Sherlock didn't even want friends, and now he was asking him out?

"I would love to, Greg," Sherlock said suddenly before Greg could continue and turned to face him. He lifted Lestrade's chin, looked into Greg's brown eyes, and said softly, "I want to."

A smile broke out on Lestrade's face. He lifted his hand to touch Sherlock's. "Yeah, me too."

The two stared at each other, touching. Just as Lestrade was going to back out, Sherlock suddenly leaned in and pressed his lips softly against Lestrade's. Lestrade closed his eyes, feeling the warmth and softness of Sherlock's lips, but the kiss was a chaste one and Sherlock pulled away quickly. He noticed the dilation of Sherlock's eyes and both of their increased breathe rate.

"See you tomorrow, Greg," Sherlock said softly and left.

 


End file.
